


Nature in Defiance of Nomenclature

by BenevolentErrancy



Series: Nature in Defiance of Nomenclature [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Character, Canon Era, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 01:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3339476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenevolentErrancy/pseuds/BenevolentErrancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asexual-homoromanticism can be a complex enough matter when a name exists for it.  When faced with such inclinations and a 19th century approach to sexuality matters become more obscure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nature in Defiance of Nomenclature

“Enjolras.”

It was the sound of his name, uttered in Combeferre’s calm, level voice, that broke the silence that had filled the sitting room and freed Enjolras from his thoughts; he looked up from the page he had been staring blankly at for some time to meet his friend’s questioning gaze.

“You are troubled,” said Combeferre, identifying Enjolras’ internal distress as easily as he had been the arteries in the diagram open before him.

“It’s nothing. Only some anxiety over the approaching examinations.”

A smile twitched at the corner of Combeferre’s mouth. “Rather more than that, I imagine. If it were a scholarly concern I should think you would be more intent on drawing ink from the nib of your pen rather than attempting to suck it through its stalk.”

Quickly Enjolras removed his pen from his lips where he had indeed been worrying at it absently for the past several minutes.

“If it’s a private matter, I will certainly leave you to your contemplations, but if sharing your concerns might give you relief…”

Enjolras shook his head sadly. “You know that you are one of my dearest confidants, Combeferre, one of the advisers I seek most readily and routinely, and yet I fear there’s nothing your can do to help with this matter. It is a personal one, unrelated to our cause…”

At this, Combeferre reached across the table where he and Enjolras were studying to clasp his hand. “Enjolras, it does not surprise me that it's a personal matter, I had anticipated as much. As I must frequently remind you: you are a man, and have a right to personal concerns, ones that aren’t so lofty that they might bother anyone beyond yourself. A person cannot live off patriotism and insurgency alone, try as you might.”

Combeferre grew silent after that, though his attention did not waver from Enjolras. He was giving his friend time to weigh his options and consider his next step, for which Enjolras was infinitely grateful. He truly did desire advice, and Combeferre was the first people he turned to when he had reached a dilemma he couldn’t surmount on his own. And yet this was a matter that he had never dared voice aloud before, one which could bring him ruin if exposed. That it could potentially destroy the easy friendship he and Combeferre shared was almost unbearable.

In the end he decided for discretion but honesty. “I fear it might not be something to which you would take kindly. Through no fault of your own, mind, but simply because it is a rather… delicate matter of questionable sensibilities.”

“This sounds like a tactful way of saying that you believe anything you say could make me spurn our brotherhood,” said Combeferre dryly. “Enjolras, whatever is troubling you I am sure it would not make me think less of you. It would take a great deal to upset the faith I have in you; more, I think, than the world, never mind yourself, is capable of providing.”

“It’s a matter of the heart.”

Combeferre seemed to ease slightly at this; his expression softened. “There is no shame in that, Enjolras. Many of your friends keep mistresses, and this does not alter their commitment to the cause or who they are as people.”

And that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? “It is not a mistress of which I speak,” he confessed, softly.

It took several moments for the significance of the phrase to wake in Combeferre. When it did, when it was clear by the shift in his expression and posture that he had become aware what Enjolras was saying, he did not pull back or rebuke him. A small mercy, but one which eased Enjolras’ mind considerably.

“A man then?”

“Yes.”

“That does complicate matters.”

“I am aware.”

“And does he…” Combeferre paused, fishing for the right words. “…share similar passions?”

And there was so much embroiled in that question. It was an accurate and inaccurate one to ask, all at once; Enjolras didn’t know where to begin dissecting it. He found himself speaking though regardless, for the relief that came of being able to voice his fears to a friend was like a crack in barrel’s shell – all he had withheld now came streaming from him in a torrent.

“I don’t know. I fear not. And I fear he does. Combeferre, it is a mess, for there is no passion on my part but I both fear the lack and the presence of passion on his.”

“Calm yourself, Enjolras,” said Combeferre, voice as reasonable as it ever was. He may as well be urging Enjolras to relax before a test. “Explain yourself. What passion are you lacking? In my experience that is one thing of which you are never short.”

“I’m not… Ah, I don’t…” Enjolras waved his hand in the air, face twisted into a grimace as he tried to wrestle some appropriate wording. This was not something he spoke of and therefore had no words that seemed adequate with which to do so. “I do not desire his body,” he said finally, though it seemed to fall short of what he needed.

Combeferre rubbed the bridge of his nose, dislodging his glasses somewhat. It wasn’t a gesture of impatience or annoyance so much of concentration. Combeferre was devoting his whole attention to this, and Enjolras was grateful; a lesser man would have cast Enjolras aside the moment he had voiced his deviance.

“So you aren’t a… mm…” He watched as Combeferre sought a polite term to use. He wished he had one to offer. “You are not an  _androphile_  then?”

Enjolras flushed. There was many less kind terms to use but it still felt like a shameful thing to have directed at himself. “No. Yes.” He groaned. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” said Combeferre slowly. “Then perhaps that is the first thing to figure out. You will have to excuse the bluntness of the question, but do you desire… men, in such a way? That is, to be precise, in a physical way, as a… well, as a sodomite? Have you felt this way towards any man, regardless of how you feel towards your current object of affection?”

“No.” That, at least, he could say with confidence. He did not feel arousal – or at least, he didn’t believe he did, but he was somewhat uncertain about what precisely that was suppose to be like – when he thought about a man’s body. Sodomy made him feel vaguely unsettled, especially if he ever thought of himself taking part in such an activity.

Combeferre raised his eyebrows. “So you don’t feel any attraction or desire towards men as you would a woman?”

“…Not exactly. But in a sense, I feel the exact same… desire towards men as I do towards women. That is to say: none.”

And that was the heart of the problem. While sodomy, or any related activity, was an unappealing prospect to him, so were physical connections with the feminine. He had seen diagrams and pictures of a woman’s intimate parts – both from medical texts that Joly and Combeferre read, as well as from vulgar postcards and novelties that men would pass around – and they did not disgust him, per se, but they did not excite him either. And to consider the mechanics that were required in such a connection was to court nausea. He did not want another man’s penis or anus, but he likewise did not want a woman’s vagina.

“I am aware you are chaste, Enjolras, but all men desire wom… well, something.  All men experience attraction. The nature of inverted passions are a rather tentative study, I admit, but such passion, regardless of its direction, is something that makes a person human, for all the Church will condemn it.”

“And yet I do not. I want none of it. I never have and I imagine I never will. And I do not think it makes me any less human.”

“Lord, no! My apologies, Enjolras, that was tactlessly worded, I did not mean to imply… You have truly never…?”

“No. You have?”

It was Combeferre’s turn to flush. “Ah, not men, of course, but, um… Yes, I do indulge an… attraction for women from time to time. I do not seek physical intimacy so freely as Courfeyrac or Joly do, but mentally I have certainly… considered such prospects.”

“I have only done so in disgust,” said Enjolras, rather bitterly. If he only shared Combeferre’s healthy interest he would not have this problem. He had rarely considered his frigidity to be a hardship – if anything it only aided in his concentration – but he was resenting it now.

For some minutes following this exchange there was silence. Combeferre tapped his pen thoughtfully and Enjolras resigned himself to scowling at the page he had not read of word of in nearly an hour.

“Well, this should not deter us from discussing your concerns, so long as you are still willing. You have never deigned to follow pre-set paths in any case, so that you should choose to deviate in this matter as well should really come as no surprise to us. And we know more now than we did at the beginning of this conversation, so we are progressing.”

“I am surprised you’re still willing to entertain this level of vulgarity.”

“Love is not vulgar.”

“Most would argue that this is not love but illness.”

“Illness is not vulgar either, but science, fact. But it is you who said that this was a matter of the heart and I trust you to know yourself, so love it is. We have established that you do not feel physical desire towards men or women, and yet you claim to feel something towards a certain man. Can you explain?”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras admitted. “I want him… as a man would want a woman, I believe, but only in a sense. I would like to pursue a relationship. I would like to be close to him, to be able to seek him out, and hold him, and comfort him. I would like all such a relationship entails, with the exception of… more intimate, physical acts.”

“And you’re sure it’s not simply camaraderie that you seek?”

“I am certain,” said Enjolras firmly. “I would not… desire such a relationship with you or Courfeyrac, for all you are my dearest friends. In any case, we – me and him, that is – are already friends of sorts. Perhaps I would like to be better acquainted to him even in that regard, but there is more I seek.”

Solemnly, Combeferre nodded. “Love is never an easy emotion to work out, but yours does seem particularly nebulous. Do you have any idea of this man’s… inclinations?”

Enjolras shook his head sadly. “Little. I know he likes women, and I know he seeks their beds frequently.”

“Unhelpful then, for you.”

“Yes.”

“There are men who are open to pursuing either sex. An  _amphibie_ , I believe? You mustn’t give up hope too soon.”

Abruptly though, Enjolras laughed. A rather hysterical, breathless laugh, but one that seemed to relieve the tension somewhat.

“You suggest I seek an amphibian?” he gasped, grin splitting his face.

“Perhaps that was an unkind term to use, I didn’t mean to imply anything. A  _bimettaliste_ , if you prefer.”

“No, no, you don’t understand how appropriate the expression was. I have heard him referred to as a toad.” His words caught up to him though, and he soon sobered. He remembered the look that flashed across the man’s face when he had been addressed as such – it had been brief, soon replaced by ever-present humour, but it had been there and it had been hurt.  “Perhaps it is unkind.”

New comprehension was dawning in Combeferre’s eyes though. “Not to pry further than you wish me to but Enjolras… is this man a person I know?”

Suddenly aware that he had given away too much, that Combeferre was perceptive and always working to solve puzzles presented to him, even if unintentionally, Enjolras was again faced with the decision whether or not to be honest.

“Yes,” he finally said.

The pen was again tapping in Combeferre’s hand. “…Grantaire?” he asked softly.

“…Yes.”

Combeferre sighed. “You’re right then, he certainly does have a love for women. …But I would also suggest he holds some form of affection for you.”

“He scorns me,” said Enjolras bitterly.

“He challenges you, certainly. But he has shown a desire to please you as well.”

Enjolras scoffs. “He may beg tasks from me but it is only to fail at them. He never completes what he starts.”

“Perhaps that reflects his own character more than it reflects his feelings for you.”

With a sigh, Enjolras confessed, “I have considered as much. Dreamt as much, is perhaps a more appropriate term. But I haven’t sought your counsel for you to flatter me or my selfish hopes.”

“Why have you sought my counsel, Enjolras?”

“… I don’t know. I wanted to say it. I wanted it not to be a shameful secret.” Enjolras drooped somewhat. “I want to know what I should do next. Should I pursue that matter? Address it to Grantaire? But if he rejects me, then I have put not only my own reputation at risk but the reputation of Les Amis as well by association; and if he accepts me then… well, I’m not sure I could give him what he would undoubtedly wish from such a union.”

“It seems to me,” said Combeferre, “that your fears all stem from your assumption that no matter what happens Grantaire will behave cruelly. If he doesn’t want you in the way you do him, you fear he will spread gossip about your inclinations. And if he does, you fear he will demand more from you than you are comfortable giving. Have you not considered that, if he doesn’t want what you offer, he might simply refuse you and keep the confidence? Or that, if he does, that he will be happy with what you have to offer? Grantaire is not made of the lowest instincts, not matter what he might try to portray.”

“…You’re right, of course. I know it too, for all he likes to aggravate and mock he is well-intentioned. He would not harm a friend intentionally, and it is only my own fears that mask that fact. You think I should tell him then?”

“Honestly, Enjolras, I don’t know. I don’t think I can offer that sort of advice. But I do think if you were to ever to consider it, you should only do it if you feel you can trust Grantaire’s better nature. If you truly don’t believe him to respect you, then you shouldn’t ask, because he wouldn’t deserve you either way.”

They lapsed into silence after that. Enjolras sat thoughtfully, fingers knit and brow furrowed as he mused on their discussion, and Combeferre politely returned to his book so that Enjolras could contemplate without an audience.

"I suppose," Enjolras said at length, "I’ll have to think on it further.  But I thank you for your input, Combeferre."

"Any time, my friend."


End file.
